


Shakespeare's Sonnets and Eliot, Parker, and Hardison

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Leverage
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, M/M, Multi, Romance, Sonnets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-23
Updated: 2012-09-23
Packaged: 2017-11-14 21:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/519575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One-shots about Eliot/Hardison/Parker, loosely inspired by Shakespeare's sonnets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is from Hardison's POV and is inspired by sonnets 40-42:
> 
> www.shakespeares-sonnets.com

Eliot.

With Parker.

I should have known.

I should be mad at you for going behind my back with Parker. I liked her first. I was with her first.

And you knew damn well how obsessed I was about this woman.

And when I think about your mouth on her body, kissing its length, when I think about her in your bed, yeah, I'm jealous of you.

But I'm more jealous of her.

And I think _That should be my body writhing under the force of Eliot's lips._

And I know, I was the one who said that it's possible to love more than one person. I loved you and I loved her, and I convinced you that there's nothing wrong with that.

But I guess I always assumed you were better than me.

Because I didn't think you would do this to me.

And make no mistake, I do hate this.

But I can't hate you.

With all the crap we've been through, I've never been able to hate you.

You're probably with her right now.

You are probably moving your hands on her arms and shoulders, cupping her face. Rough-skinned fingertips with a gentle touch. Making her relaxed instead of nervous.

Maybe she's not nervous. Maybe she's frantic, and you're the one holding her steady, getting her to slow down, setting a softer but stronger rhythm.

Maybe you're kissing her between the breasts, right on that birthmark. Maybe she pretends to be ticklish to explain why she giggles.

Maybe your tongue is swirling around her nipple. Pressing down enough that she makes that sound.

I think about your scent mingling with hers. Your limbs entangled with hers. The two of you breathing each other in, wanting each other for all the reasons I want you.

And it's good.

It's bad for me, I know.

But in another way, a more important way... it's good.


	2. Eliot's POV on Hardison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Sonnet 9

Hardison smiles at me. With his perfect smile.

He is sitting on the edge of the bed, all proud as a peacock that he had just finished some feat of mathematical-scientific-technological whatever. One of those things that only a handful of people in the world could do.

Of course most of the others in that handful didn't have Hardison's body. Or his face. Or his personality. Or his skills in the bedroom.

Or his heart.

The kid is cocky. But even he doesn't seem to know how rare he actually is.

"You have never seen a packet-switching algorithm like this," he bragged, knowing full well I would roll my eyes.

Because even though I know he's good, there's no good reason to encourage him.

But still.

There are some compliments that are safe.

"You look pretty good tonight, darlin,'" I tell him.

That perfect smile.

"Oh, I see, you don't care about my mind, you just admire me for my hot body," he teases, half joking. But only half.

He's wrong. But I answer, "Can you blame me?"

Another perfect smile. "I don't know. Tell me more about how hot I look tonight." He sprawls out on the bed, hand behind his head.

I look him over, planning. He wants me to.

I grab his thigh then and pull his body toward me so I can run my hand up his T-shirt, fingers pressing into his stomach. His breath catches.

"Tell me how bad you want me," he says, pleading now, less a demand.

"Oh, I'm having you," I tell him with a smile and a wink. He loves it when I wink. I continue, "You're just too pretty not to have," and I lean down to kiss his stomach softly where my fingers were just rough.

"It would be a waste not to make good use of me," Hardison whimpers, urging me to keep talking, "Pretty as I am."

I hesitate. I want to tell him that yeah, that's his problem, he needs to know he's not to be wasted. Before the Leverage jobs, he was wasting his smarts. And now...  
Could I really tell him that he's not wasting himself on me? Can I really say that it's right for all that innocence and sweetness to spend his best years with a near-middle age hitter who beats people into submission for a living? Who has never had a relationship of more than a few months? Who will never offer him what he could have with someone else?

But I don't tell him this. When do I ever tell him what I mean?

So I say, "You know, Hardison, you should really have kids some day."

And he looks amused as he answers "Really? We're already talking about having kids together?"

"I didn't say - dammit, Hardison, I meant some day, you should settle down with someone nice. A nice girl." Because Hardison's probably just a young guy going through a phase. Because regardless, he leans toward straight on the Kinsey scale. Because of all of us, Hardison's the one who's undamaged enough to have a shot at that white-picket fence stuff that other people seem to be able to do.

He's confused. "A nice girl? Seriously, Eliot?"

"Or a guy. As long as he's nice. And normal. And he lets you artificially inseminate someone. Because I'm telling you Hardison," I say as I rub my hands from his chest to his groin and look down at his body with eyes full of lust, "Your genes are just too damn good to end with you."

He snickers then. "I should have known it was a line."

"I still need lines with you?" I ask, knowing the answer.

"No. But I like it when you use them anyway," he smiles as he pulls me down for a kiss.

I file my doubts away, then. I can always visit them again, when I have less pressing things before me.


	3. Eliot's POV on Parker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Sonnet 130

They say that some women can look at you and it's like you can't even see straight. Like they give you a look and suddenly you're sweaty and burning up and bumping into things.

I don't know if I've really experienced that.

Definitely not with Parker.

I mean, when we're on a job, and she tries to give a Fuck-me look? Yeah, usually ends up more like a just-escaped-from-the-mental-asylum look.

And sometimes she gets all up in your face with her weird-ass breath right after she eats garlic Parmesan risotto, and you just smile and pretend not to notice.

And when she laughs, she kind of does a snort-snorfle things that sounds like phlegm coming up. Not that pretty.

And sometimes she says things that....

Well, sometimes, she says very Parker-like things.

But still. She's Parker.

And that's all you really need to know.

Because there's nobody like Parker.


End file.
